


Day 2: Wounded

by SaiTheWriter



Series: Turkstober2020 [2]
Category: Before Crisis: Final Fantasy VII, Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII (Video Game 1997), Final Fantasy VII Remake (Video Game 2020)
Genre: Blood, Gunshot Wounds, Turks (Compilation of FFVII), Turkstober2020
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-04
Updated: 2020-10-04
Packaged: 2021-03-08 01:33:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26807419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SaiTheWriter/pseuds/SaiTheWriter
Summary: Turkstober prompt. Reno gets a boo boo because that's fuckin' day in the life.
Series: Turkstober2020 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1957075
Kudos: 28
Collections: Turkstober 2020





	Day 2: Wounded

_Blink._

The first thing to return unfortunately, was feeling. White hot pain throbbed from along the side of his ribcage, where both hot and cold twined and pulsed in that special hell mix he knew all too well to associate with a bullet wound. Unconsciously his body made to arch away from itself, even though several hands were keeping him low. The floor was cold, solid, and somewhat of a comfort while hands pressed and hovered along his body. Fuck sake, he hated when people tried to play hero. How many of those hands were attached to anxious personal assistants and PR consultants or whatever the fuck came along in Rufus’ press bracket? That probably had only seen this shit in daytime dramas and put their mitts on him just to natter at someone about something exciting over drinks some night? Only one pair was actively doing anything to keep him alive, if that was even how bad the shit was, and that was the gloved set currently pressing hard enough into his fucking spleen to make him gag each breath.

When had he moved? Must have been why it was suddenly darker, light muffled. That would be the curtain, the heavy drapes hiding the audience and podium away from the lights and sound boards dragged around to these stupid speeches. His head dropped back down again from the tilt as his gaze blindly tracked about, afforded nothing aside from a hazy blur that pounded along with the bubbles of sound he couldn’t register due to his brain fucking off somewhere. Gritting his teeth caused Reno to note the tang of copper stealing into his mouth, his head tilting to the side as thank fuck something decided to work and he spat out a cough of liquid on impulse. Further away the sound of a roar could be heard, though it seemed like a fluctuating sound back and forth. Focus, dammit. The globbing noises finally shifted apart until several barked orders caused him to seek out the moving blob attached to it. Sight seemed to want to stutter in and out, and taking several moments before his gaze began to track the shapes hovering above him when he listed.

That’d be Tseng, the one he’d known without even needing to see was the one at his side. Rude, the rookie? Rude was likely halfway up the fuckin’ nest this idiot had shot from, if he was a betting man. The rookie? A glance around showed her, and of course, the VP himself, all wrapped in his now ruined jacket. Her gaze was everywhere at once, yet nowhere near him. For all his jokes, he knew she was there for a reason, and she was showing her instincts were true, settled by Shinra and ready to hit anything that came near him. With good reason, given the man was speckled with Reno’s own blood from the close hit.

For his part, the man looked fully unruffled as expected. Though, it was unnerving to find his glance was met by those distant eyes. Was he watching with detached interest? Mad at his precious outerwear being ruined? It was anyone’s guess. Not that it mattered, his job was to ensure his protection this afternoon, and that’s damn well what he did.

_Blink._

“Focus!” Tseng’s terse voice snapped near his ear, tugging his attention at last towards the man at last. Not a hair out of place, the bastard. He’d say downright immaculate but given the pressure currently shoving his body down with, he had no doubt in his addled mind those gloves would yet again need replacing. Fourth pair this month? “Status.” The older man barked, his weird ass eye magic keeping his own on him. Aw, he was concerned. Possibly. Maybe. It could happen.

“Better off ‘n he woulda been-” He paused to puff in a breath, hating the amount of time that took. He would live, but that didn’t mean his body was happy with him. “If I hadn’t shoved ‘im. Sorry sir.” His head tilted back with a red grin towards the blond. Wasn’t he ju- no. Rufus had stalked around him while he’d been distracted with Tseng, his aloof presence still just out of the way but close enough to hear. Elena for her part had remained close, at his side just as seamlessly if not nearer than they had all been not five minutes before in the bright rays of sun during that god awful speech.

_Blink._

A woman clattered forward with two other uniformed medics in tow before he could yap again, her palm already aglow by the time she politely nudged Tseng over while her partners snagged up the specifics. It was all medic jargon he couldn’t be assed to remember anyways, not when the immediate relief came from her materia laden efforts. Fuck sake. “Need some training.” He sing-songed towards the director, nodding towards the medical team. Relief meant faculties were coming a bit easier to him. “Whoever put them further out than fuckin’ PR needs to know they almost cost the VP his life. Woulda bled out by now if he’d been hit where that shit woulda gone, yo.”

It was only met with a nod, absentminded at best, from his superior. He was standing now, sliding soiled gloves smoothly from his fingers and tossing them into the pile of refuse from sterile bandages and whatever the fuck they’d put in him that made the remaining burn of pain bearable. Magic was great, but it wasn’t a damn cure all. Only rely on it as much as needed to return you to walking wounded status tended to be their way.

Anything he might have said in response was gone the moment his phone rang, turning his attention to the other side. That’d be Rude with information then, given the situation. Anyone with sense in their head would know not to call him unless it was his partner and an update. A mild grunt when tacky suit peeled away from his skin around the damage. Great. More clothing allowance paperwork.

_Blink._

Reno’s gaze shifted back up, this time flitting between the blond and his boss a bit of ways away, phone down in a limp hand at his side. Had he lost time? Damn, they put in the good shit. The two were head to head, conferring quietly while Elena looked on from the side. This wasn’t good. Assassinations of this type weren’t done anymore. Sure they dealt with them often, but an attempt like this? This was broad daylight, filled with possibilities to maximize the ability of being caught. Someone that went sniper route either was terribly under-trained, running out of options, or could afford a few loose ends. The last one? That was the dangerous one.

_Blink._

“Reno.” Rude. Heavy eyes tilted up, offering the man a smile on impulse despite the weighty sensation that came with it. What had they given him? His laconic buddy looked fine, save for an odd scratch along his cheek and drying smudges of his own along the breast of his suit jacket.

“Partner. Ya good?” Talking wasn’t something he really felt like anymore, and besides that, Rude wasn’t much of one. The man leaned down and gripped along his good side, easing him up while careful of the bandages now wrapping his frame. Shit, where the fuck had he been?

“He’s in custody.” The quiet man nodded, letting the redhead lean into his side as much as he needed while he found his feet. “Boss took the VP home.” That explained the sudden lack of personnel around.

“‘Zat mean we can go home too? Ready for a nap.” The only people really left were hovering remnants of ground security clearing evidence, and medics, the part that he didn’t really like seeing.

“Medical.” The man answered without missing a beat, his slow steps making sure his companion could keep up. All the way to the waiting van.

“Fuuuuck. Really? Come on, yo. I gotta sofa with my name on it.” Even complaining left him oddly tired, a fact he would attribute only to that special cocktail they’d visited on him. Bastards knew he hated going, probably did it to make sure he wouldn’t pull an escape. Again. At least walking was helping push the sleepy disorientation out of the way.

“You need stitches.”

“I need a smoke.” He emphasized his need and then abruptly winced when they halted at the doorway. Elena’s blond bob was in the distance, going over something with the security head of today’s group. “Maybe after stitches.” He conceded with a mild grumble, waiting in the doorway for his body to cooperate.

“Mmhm.”

“Asshole!”


End file.
